A Place To Hide
by Flutterby Princess
Summary: I am not mad, I am not crazy, I am only trying to take from those who have so much and don't give. What if Bertha were not crazy, but instead a spy trying to take down Rochester?


"Mr Rochester!" the plain young woman dressed in simple black exclaimed in surprise. "Who is he?" Rolling my eyes, I could not help but be slightly relieved. So this was the new governess that I'd heard whispers of in the halls. If this girl was not even clever enough to properly look into the people she was on her way to being employed by, she certainly wouldn't interfere much with my plans.

"I thought," she continued hesitantly, "Thornfield belonged to you."

"To me?" I watched Mrs. Fairfax, Edward's housekeeper, exclaim in surprise. I watched them comfortably from my position within the outer wall of the house. Too bad Edward Rochester and his brother were such unimaginative and dull children that they never even thought to search for hidden passages in their old house. I'd discovered them about my third day in the house, once Edward had locked me in a small room to hide my apparent "madness". Little did he know, he was doing exactly what I wanted him to do.

Through well-hidden holes in the wall, I watched Jane meet Adele, Edward's love child, though he'd never admit it. But I knew it was true. My partner Richard Mason had gone to Paris and confirmed it. Just another mistake that Edward Rochester had been dumb enough to make. I watched as Jane and Mrs. Fairfax climbed the stairs to the third floor, my home, then climbed up a hidden staircase, and reentered my room through a tapestry hanging unnoticeably in the back of the closet. My keeper, Grace Poole, was just as I left her, drugged peacefully in her chair by the fire. She was actually not a bad woman, but had such severe aches in her worn body that the sleeping potion provided her with a gentle reprieve when she could simply relax, dream, and escape the small world surrounded her. I smiled before making my way to the wall and pressing my eye into a notch disguised as a carving of a bird in the modest wooden walls. I watched as Jane surveyed the hall and then the property that extended in every direction below her. The cool green hills and colorless grey sky must have impressed her as I heard her murmur in quiet delight at her new home. She's getting comfortable already, I thought. Might as well shake her up a bit, so she never feels completely at home here.

As Jane walked demurely past my door, I lowered my voice and let out the most sinister wicked laugh I could produce. I heard her pause and then call out to Mrs. Fairfax.

"One of the servants, very likely," she reassured an alarmed Jane: "Perhaps Grace Poole."

Hearing Grace Poole's name, I knew it was a matter of seconds before Mrs. Fairfax came in to scold Grace for not preventing my laughter. I hurried over to the sleeping form of Grace and quickly poured the antidote to the sleeping drink I usually keep her on into her mouth. Then I darted over to my bed and jumped into it, curling into a ball in the corner, and messing up my hair so it looked like I had not tamed it for some time. I was just in time. A sharp knock from Mrs. Fairfax rang at the door, and Grace Poole jumped up confused from her chair before crossing the room to answer it. After Mrs. Fairfax scolded Grace, she curtsied clumsily and walked back to her chair, drinking from her flask as she did so. She was out within moments.

I heard Jane and Mrs. Fairfax's footsteps retreat down the stairs, as I sat again on my bed, but this time neatly, curling up with my journal, which I kept hidden in a wall panel by my bed. I read over my plans again, feeling proud of myself and my organizations flawless planning. I was a member of the Thornfield branch of a larger organization aimed at removing all the wealthy, selfish landowners from their positions, so that the distribution of wealth and property in an area would be more evenly distributed. This is about personal gain for me and my family; when Mr. Rochester was removed from his position the land would be open to everyone, including me, for growing and living peacefully, with no selfish man refusing to lend his land or help those below him. But this is also about personal revenge. If Mr. Rochester had been a kind friendly man who interacted with those in the village and treated everyone with respect as opposed to seeing himself substantially above the rest, our organization would not even be here. But instead he chose to live a loveless unhappy life and destroyed everything good that could have happened to him. And when I, his lovely wife, had shown signs of "illness", instead of caring for me, he locked me away in the attic, hiding me from the world so that I might not hurt his reputation. It was then when I truly realized what kind of a man he was, and any guilt that I'd previously had vanished with the cool damp wind that flowed through my prison's window. .

Several nights later, I stood quietly in my room, readying myself for later tonight, for what would hopefully be the last step in our takedown. If all went according to plan, there would be no Edward Rochester by the morning, and as he has no heir and no will, the status level of all the villagers and farmers that Edward never paid any attention to will all have risen considerably. Years of tireless work and sacrifice had been put in, and at this point, my role was key to the success of our operation. I remembered the first time I had ever met Edward. My real husband, Richard Mason, had to establish a relationship with Edward over a number of years, then once he knew he had Edward's interest, I had been smuggled to the islands, where I then posed as Richard's sister among his family, and it had been key that I capture his attention. Luckily Richard's parents had selected only unattractive women to attend all the parties, and I had dresses custom made so that there was no way I would not be his object of desire by the time the wedding was proposed. That first night, I knew him as soon as I set eyes on him. He had a rugged appeal to him that some women might find attractive, but once he opened his mouth, he was rude, argumentative and boring. Still, I had danced around him, fluttering my lashed and swirling my skirts, and before he knew it he had a wife. Then I had to return to England with him, where I then begin to put on my act of madness, another essential key. I had judged Edward's character correctly. If I were mad, Edward would hide my existence. He would be ashamed and embarrassed. He would hide me from him as well, and I would be free to continue my plan largely unnoticed because I was disregarded by the very man I was trying to defeat, and all the formalities of society would not be a hindrance to my plan, because once I was mad, it was never expected of me to attend any events. So much work had been put in- years and years of planning, and now we were in the final stages and everything rested on my shoulders. And I was not going to allow this Jane to interfere in any way. Luckily she appeared to be nothing more than a simple, reserved, nervous young women, greatly intimidated by Edward and his stupid act. I could not imagine her being here would change anything.

I walked to the closet, looking back at Grace Poole, sleeping in her chair. I pulled back the tapestry and slipped into the hidden corridors, holding no possessions but a single candle. And the bit of fuel that I knew would increase the ferocity of a fire, which I had placed in my pocket, hit my leg reassuringly with every movement I made walking down the steps. I stepped from the passage into the hall, my eyes falling on the door that stood ajar at the end of the hall. The moon shown through the window casting a milky pool of light onto the sleeping figure in the richly made bed below it. My fingers trailed along the wooden wall and I could not help but laugh excitedly, feeling the pull of the doorway as I hurried to fulfill what I had been anticipating for years.

I pushed the door open firmly- I had already checked the night before and made sure the hinges were well oiled. Pulling the cloth soaked in kerosene from a jar in my pocket, I spread it along the richly embroidered hangings surrounding the bed. Stepping back and looking at the sleeping man who cared for no one but himself, who had locked his wife in a room without feeling the slightest guilt, I placed the flame of my candle onto the cloth and watched as the flames spread like water being poured. I ran happily down the passageway, not even bothering to contain my delighted laugh. It was done. Edward Rochester would be no more. Back in my room, I gathered my belongings, getting ready to grab Grace Poole and make my escape down a passage. Everyone else in the house would be able to get out before the fire spread. We were not a cruel group, the only person who needed to suffer was Edward himself. My husband and his men were hidden outside to make sure that everyone else would get out alive. After all, the servents were at the same level as us, and were treated with a condescending humor just like everyone else.

Pulling my bag over my shoulder, I paused as I heard a distinct male voice from the floor below, as well as a quiet female voice. Jane Eyre! Had that meek child actually gotten up and done something about the flames? Had she actually saved Edward, who largely ignored her and went out of his way to confuse her? Apparently I had misjudged her. I pulled up a loose floorboard, where I had placed a spyglass to the floor below. Sure enough, there stood Jane in her plain nightgown, with a wet Edward next to her, as she described a chilling laughter she had heard in the hall. Fantastic.

"I must pay a visit to the third story. Don't move, remember, or call anyone." Poor Edward, still paranoid that someone would find all the mistakes he had made and use them to destroy his life. Oh Edward, you did this all to yourself, you know.


End file.
